


Perfectly Adequate

by quixxotique (crownlessliestheking)



Series: Bringing an Al Dente Noodle to the Spaghetti House [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Dave is very rambly, Anal Sex, And also kind of petty, Bro's a dick, Bro's dick is also blingy, Choking, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Guardiancest, Light Dom/sub, Light Manipulation, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, PWP, Rough Sex, Sex to a soundtrack, Smuppets being used for their intended purpose, Spanking, sub bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-05 22:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11587755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownlessliestheking/pseuds/quixxotique
Summary: “Vanilla? What the fuck, man, I'm not vanilla," you protest almost instantly, petulant, and just scowl at the shit-eating grin that's currently taking up practically half of your boyfriend's face. "I'm the least goddamn vanilla person you know, wipe that look off your face, you jackass. I'm as vanilla as goddamn chocolate ice cream, you hear that?""In denial too, apparently." And he has the gall to shake his head mournfully, like this is an actual serious discussion and not some kind of slanderous campaign against your good reputation and honorable name. "Ya ain't the one calling the sex perfectly adequate, though, which it is. Ain't no reason to take such offense to it, broski. Adequate is fine."(In which they fuck, and David tops for the first time in a while. Bro not-so-secretly loves it.)





	Perfectly Adequate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quenive](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quenive/gifts).



> I feel shitty so what better to do than purge all that with gratuitous smut? Looks like my tendency to make PWPs long as fuck hasn't gone away at all, despite it having been like 2.5 years since I've last written anything like it. I never intended for it to be so long.
> 
> Note that the light manipulation tag just refers to the fact that Bro is p much incapable of straight up asking for this, but both parties are very much enthusiastic about it happening.

“What do you mean, ‘perfectly adequate’?” you ask, doing your damnedest best not to sound really fucking offended. Which you kind of are, but you can’t show this fucker that, not at all. “Perfectly adequate is how you describe something average, something normal, like a shitty meal at a dinner party that you force yourself to scoff down spoonful by spoonful even as your soul is being chipped away by every godawful bite because you can’t offend the host since you need their support for something stupid and this is how rich people schmooze.”

“Well, I ain’t that kinda rich,” he drawls out, monotone as ever, and lifts one of his hideous creations up to the light, examining it from every angle. Careful attention is paid to impudently jutting buttocks that form the namesake of his puppet porn hellsite (why, why are you in a relationship with someone who does puppet porn? You fucking hate puppets, holy shit), and to the extrusion of its proboscis, which he flicks. It’s like watching a nightmarish version of the goddamn Lion King, honestly, and you don’t doubt that the entire thing is staged to remind you just of that, for the irony. Hell, you don’t doubt that Bro holds the damn things up to survey the screens in his room, all displaying different videos featuring his dick and the puppet’s brethren, and whisper that this is its kingdom. “Unlike y’all high and mighty folks, I come from the gutter with my ill-gotten gains and relative lack of ridiculous fucking scandals and tabloid coverage.”

“You’re avoiding the subject, you shit, and we both know it,” you huff, yanking the smuppet right out of those gloved hands, and promptly fling it to some unknown corner, where it lands with a graceless, melancholy squeak. Good riddance.

“Christ, didn’t Hollywood teach ya any manners? Coulda sworn ya grew up in the fuckin’ jungle with that kinda attitude. Or ya got stuck in the teenage emo phase again,” he shrugs, goddamn picture perfect nonchalance, but you have been dating the man for nearly a year now and have since managed to pry out some of Bro’s tells, even if it was harder than yanking teeth out of a crocodile or something equally asinine.

“Like you weren’t one of the fans who was constantly jacking off to those pics when they were leaked,” you sneer right back in response, and at the raised eyebrow in challenge, you just plop yourself into the other’s lap. Suck on that, Bro.

“Nah. Wasn’t kidding when we first met and I told ya that ya ain’t my type,” he responds, and slouches lower in the couch, a maddening half-smirk on his lips.

“Because my type is full on redneck douchebag genius with a puppet kink a mile wide?” you cock a perfectly-shaped eyebrow, and the slow widening of that smirk is gratifying as fuck.

“Nah, your type’s the kinda arrogant bastard that’ll force ya to yer knees just like you want it.” Well, shit. He leans in close, just to whisper it into your ear, his breath hot and lips barely grazing against your skin, and you can’t help the slight shudder that runs through you.

“Maybe I think your technique in that’s a little lacking, huh? You’re like the hamster on the wheel, dude, all you know how to do is just run in place, and stop when you’re tired.” You reach over to knock that shitty grey cap off Ambrose’s hair, and do your abject best not to tease about that receding hairline. While that’d normally lead to some pretty spectacular shit in terms of the rough sex end of the spectrum, that’s not what you’re going for. You have a goddamn Plan for this, now, formulated from the very minute he’d brought up that perfectly adequate bullshit.

“Says the most vanilla fucker I know,” Bro snorts, and you tighten your hand in those blonde strands, giving a tug. “Woe is me, I’m in such pain,” the fucker continues to deadpan, and his voice is undeniably amused.

“Vanilla? What the fuck, man, I'm not vanilla," you protest almost instantly, petulant, and just scowl at the shit-eating grin that's currently taking up practically half of your boyfriend's face. "I'm the least goddamn vanilla person you know, wipe that look off your face, you jackass. I'm as vanilla as goddamn chocolate ice cream, you hear that?"

"In denial too, apparently." And he has the gall to shake his head mournfully, like this is an actual serious discussion and not some kind of slanderous campaign against your good reputation and honorable name. "Ya ain't the one calling the sex perfectly adequate, though, which it is. Ain't no reason to take such offense to it, broski. Adequate is fine."

"And for all your big talk about forcing me to my knees, you've done jack shit, old man. Arthritis and erectile dysfunction kicking in already?" you retort- a cheap shot, especially since Ambrose is all of a year older than you, but the petty quips never fail to get under the guy's skin, and you’re rewarded with another scowl.

"Fuck you," Bro narrows his eyes behind his shades, and a gloved palm begins its slow migration northwards and up your thigh like it's a goose at the end of winter and- this really isn't the kind of metaphor you want to think about right now, no thank you. 

"Nah, not today," you answer, careless, and easily plucks Bro's shades off to reveal those amber-orange eyes, like a goddamn backlit sunset right there. If you were sappy, you’d spend fucking ages trying to photograph those eyes. "If it's adequate and I'm too vanilla, man, mayybe we should mix things up again."

"Like, what, ya gonna get a vibe and learn how to masturbate like some straight white lady in her forties who ain't ever heard of an orgasm before but is suddenly curious?" Bro asks, and you just stare for a moment, because what the fuck? 

"First of all, no. Secondly, dude, if either of us was going to fuck a middle-aged white lady for some kinda sexual Nirvana, it'd be me, so jot that one down, yeah? Sandra from the PTA would have the time of her goddamn life, and it would be more than ‘perfectly adequate’, you ungrateful fuck.” You pause for a moment, redirect that particular train right the fuck back on its fuck-tracks. “But nah, I’m gonna fuck you.”

Bro lasts all of three seconds before fucking laughing in your face, the bag of dicks.

“What, ya think ya can handle me, li’l man?” he drawls, that smirk firmly on his lips as his hand reaches its destination, and gives your crotch a brief and condescending pat. “’Cause I might have the buns, hun, but your anaconda ain’t getting anywhere near ‘em.”

“Forget the anabronda, man, the bromese python is going to be getting into that cave,” you shoot back, and if the man wants shitty porn dialogue, he’s getting it. Said python is definitely stirring in interest, and you shift your hips just a little for better positioning to instigate some grinding. Which, you’re both always hot for, despite the fact of how it’s pretty much reminiscent of your desperate teenaged days and blowing your load in your pants. Lalonde would chalk that one up to chasing a misspent youth due to misplaced nostalgia, or like, some fear of getting old. But nobody actually wants to get old, and the rest is fuckin’ bullshit, in your opinion. And thinking about her right now is going to send said bromese python into hibernation.

“Well shit, how could I have neglected such a majestic goddamn snake?” Bro arranges his non-expression into something that vaguely conveys horror, and you actually can’t help but to roll your eyes this time. “Used to be a little into herpetology when I was a kid, y’know.”

“Kinda sounds like herpes, dude, do I really want that nasty mouth anywhere near me? Might actually end up gagging you after that, man, before you say some other shit and ruin the mood,” you sigh, like it’d be inconvenient in any way and not at all hot as fuck. You can pretty much imagine him with a spider gag in, mouth held open so you can hear every single sound he’d muffle otherwise.

“Or ya could keep my mouth occupied with something else, just a thought,” Ambrose winks, lascivious, and gives your dick a little squeeze through your slacks. And, yep, that’s a pretty fucking stellar idea, even if it seems an awful lot like the guy’s trying to take charge here when you’re the one running this little show. You admonish Bro with a kiss that’s all slow heat and a whole lot of tongue, sloppy and noisy and just what the doctor ordered. Perfectly adequate, your sweet ass.

“Since you’re so eager, then, might as well work at getting me hard,” you suggest, reluctantly sliding off his lap. But it’s easy to settle into that role, to recline on the couch and spread your legs just far enough to accommodate him nice and comfy between them. “D’you need a cushion to spare your poor aging knees, man?”

“Nah, but the couch might need one to spare it from your bony ass,” he retorts and you kick him lightly, leaning forward to grip his hair again. “Scoot up.”

“You love my ass more than anything else, so fuck right off with those fake complaints, pal,” you answer, and he obligingly moves closer, co-operating for now. “Unzip and gimme your lips, yeah?”

“Let me just get the knife the fuckin’ slice ‘em off for ya, why don’t I?” The sarcasm is certainly not what you’re looking for right now, and frankly it’s rude as fuck when you’re trying to get it on here, so you chastise Bro with a harsh tug to his hair. You figure he’ll like it, and the way a slight flush spreads across his cheeks is proof enough.

“Christ, man, stop dicking around and just get to it before we’re stuck here for all goddamn eternity in a special kind of purgatory.” Finally, Ambrose gets to work unzipping your slacks, his fingers still gloved and his eyes dark and heated as he flicks them up to get a good look at you. God, he looks like he wants to eat you alive, and you fucking love it.  You just offer a lazy smirk in return, and you run your fingers through his hair in encouragement. Bro mirrors it as your mostly flaccid dick is revealed to the unfortunately cool air of the room, and you shift in mild discomfort, prompting a small snort.

“Such a fuckin’ baby, holy shit.” You’d take issue with that, but there’s a hand touching your dick and it’s sending off some real nice signals in your brain, Ambrose’s efforts rewarded with an almost shamefully quick stiffening. “An eager baby,” he amends with a smirk, and leans forward to flick his tongue against the slit, all hot and wet and teasing.

“Shut up and suck, yeah?” you prompt, and if you get a little more confident with tugging him a little more onto your cock to emphasize that? It’s fine. Aside from the fact that he literally tries to fucking get the last word in, around your actual dick, causing some pretty hair-raising moments when it comes to teeth.

Thankfully, you come out of that with no injuries to David Jr., and all’s pretty much goddamn peachy when Bro finally puts his mouth to good use and starts sucking you off properly. Not that he doesn’t make you work for it, of course; it’s sloppy and noisy when you start to roll your hips and push into his mouth, and he just lets it hang open, filthy, and if your cock happens to slip out and accidentally smack him a few times, smear pre and spit across his cheek and lips? He looks like he never wants to be anywhere else, and it’s goddamn gorgeous with his lips all puffy and pinked up. You groan at the sight, give him that little reaction in reward, like you’re not already hard enough to cut through a diamond, like your face isn’t already flushed red and your breath coming in pants.

But at some point, you need to put your foot down, and the little shit’s enjoying teasing you way too much, eyes gleaming and if you didn’t know it was impossible to actually smirk with a dick in your mouth, you’d think he was doing it right now. So you grip his hair a little harder, and the involuntary groan that rumbles around your cock is all sorts of good, and it’s even better when you push in slowly, all the fucking way, and he just lets you, swallows you whole without a goddamn problem, holy shit.

And when you start fucking his face properly, lazy rolls of your hips turning to proper thrusts, the wet noises near obscene and your cock slicked up nicely with his spit as he just, lets you use his mouth and you can see how much it’s turning him on. God, you should have done this sooner, you would have if you’d known it was going to be so easy.

You get a little more vocal, and shift one foot to press up against his crotch where you can feel his erection straining against those jeans- tight as they may be and easy on the eyes as they are, that shit can’t be comfortable, but you’re not in the mood to be particularly generous at the moment. So you just apply the slightest hint of pressure, leave the rest to Bro, and you’re not disappointed at all when he starts to rut against the heel of your foot, desperate even as you yank his head low then lower, until his nose is nestled firmly against your (neatly trimmed, you’re not a complete hygienic mess) pubes. Which, you know he’s going to give you shit for later on, but right now you could not care less.

“Christ, man, here I am regretting pretty much every hooker I ever wasted time on in those goddamn parties,” you murmur at him, your voice low and half a groan. “Never been fuckin’ happier to have given up bachelorhood because holy shit-,”

And you have to cut yourself off there, because he swallows around you in proper, and you can see and feel his throat flex around you, all tight, wet heat and it makes your toes curl in pleasure.

“Fffuck. Dirty trick,” you pant out, and your hips are pretty much moving of their own volition, now, but you’re not going to stop that particular train any time soon, you can hold out, you’re not at all dangerously close to just blowing your load in his mouth- nah, all over his face would be so much better, he’d look hot as fuck like that, all coated in strings of white with his mouth open for it, filthy and wanting.

And _that_ makes your cock twitch dangerously, and since Ambrose is clearly enjoying it way too much, and you actually do have a plan for this, and that involves your dick in his ass, you pull out slowly. The only sound in the room is both of your labored breathing, and Bro coughing a few times, before looking up at you, almost scolding.

“The fuck, man? I was havin’ some fun there,” he raises an eyebrow, and shit, he sounds hot as fuck with his voice all low and dick-sucking wrecked. “Ain’t like ya weren’t enjoyin’ it, either, ya were all of a minute away from fuckin’ beggin’ to come in my mouth.”

In revenge, you move your foot, take that pressure and friction away from his cock and the now very noticeable bulge in his pants. A flash of something like frustration stealing across his face is reward enough, and you flick your wrist, gesturing for him to stand.

“Yeah, well, we do have a pony ride to get to,” you shrug carelessly. “Now let’s see what the stud looks like, I’ve already gone and looked the gift horse in the mouth, done worse than that, actually, so I might as well enjoy this before said horse kicks me and breaks a couple of ribs, and then I have to pay a fuckton of hospital bills and deal with all sorts of weird hate mail from PETA.”

“You’re the one who needs a fuckin’ gag,” he says, but does you the incredible favour of taking his shirt off. Yeah, you definitely lucked out in that department; the dude, through some miracle, is actually fucking ripped. It’s like dating a Greek statue, except you can’t get arrested for stealing that shit from a museum and then riding it like you’re practicing for the rodeo, and also his dick is bigger than any on the statues you’ve seen.

“Stop talking and strip faster, man,” you tell him, drumming a finger against your thigh. He obliges without much more in the way of snide words, which would normally make you suspicious, but you’re pretty sure he wants your dick in his ass as much as you want your dick in his ass, so you let that slide for now. Ambrose is standing naked in front of you soon enough, and shit, that’s gorgeous, it really is; the man’s a study in musculature and scarring, broad in the chest and shoulders and dusted with fine blond hair and freckles. Of course, him being him, he also strikes an obnoxious muscle queen pose at you, and winks.

You roll your eyes, but get to work on taking your on clothes off; first your suit jacket, then your tie and shirt, then shoes and slacks. You leave everything but the tie as you stand up, spooling the red silk around your hand and flicking it carelessly in his face, tilting your head in the general direction of the bedroom. Ambrose gives you a very much irritated look as it slides off his face and onto the floor, but he gets the hint and goes first. You seize the opportunity to catch a glimpse of that literally perfect ass. _Chriiiist._

Ambrose gets to the bed before you, naturally, and he sprawls out across your sheets with a dizzyingly high thread-count like he belongs there, like he’s part of the damn pattern (it’s shitty pixelated card-suits, of course it is, but he makes it look like he’s part of some ancient harem and is the queen bee there, ‘I own 51% of this kingdom’, etc.)

Of course, the invitation is implicit in the come hither bedroom eyes he’s giving you, and it’s not one you’re even remotely inclined to deny, so you follow him to the bed, slide on top of him until you’re mouth to mouth, chest to chest, your bare cock against his (hilariously engorged) studded one. The next kiss in hungry, but still slow; there’s no desperation here just yet, even as Bro slides a hand between the two of you to cage your dicks together, gives a slow roll of his hips to gift you both some much-needed friction. With your own still slick from pre-come and his spit, the affair isn’t dry to begin with, and the feeling of the metal on the underside of his cock is as phenomenal as ever.

“Lube,” you murmur against his mouth, before sliding off him, albeit with a whole lot of reluctance.

“And soundtrack,” he adds, not seeming at all put out about the loss. Your eyes very nearly roll right out of your skull, honestly, but the speakers are already set up and soon enough, yeah, that’s definitely some bizarre fucking MLP remix with a pounding bass rattling through the room. Only Ambrose would want to fuck to that, honestly, but you don’t think you care a whole lot beyond the principle of the thing (and you’re not really about to start any kind of debate now, lest he get distracted). But you manage to retrieve the lube without much of an issue, though in the scant seconds between you rummaging through the drawer and you looking back at the bed, there’s one of the fucking puppets on there, staring glassily up at you. You look between Bro and the hideously orange monstrosity, and the former has the absolute audacity to look _innocent_ about it, like he hadn’t just put the damn thing there. But, fine, you can work with that, even if it means you have to touch it. You are going to show him the best time with that shitty, awful, ugly-as-fuck smuppet.

“On your back, legs spread,” you tell him, and then add, “Hands and knees come later, dude, chill.”

He complies with a slow spread of his legs, flashing just about everything you’re intimately acquainted with and are definitely going to continue to be. You slide an appreciative hand up his leg, and, just to be a dick, tweak at some of the hairs on his inner thighs, gaining you a curse and light smack at your hand in response. It’s revenge for that ffffucking puppet, honestly, and if the other one that seems to literally fucking move is anywhere near the room right now? You are going to lose your shit.

You’re not particularly kind about it as you drizzle lube onto your fingers, probably too much, if you’re honest, but you figure it’s better safe than sorry. So, imagine your surprise when you go to slide a finger in, and his asshole is nowhere near as watertight as you’d thought it was going to be. Huh.

“You been using toys, man?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, even as you add another finger slowly, since you don’t have to work him open all that much after all.

“Mmh. What of it?” he says, completely shameless as he spreads his legs a little wider for you, a handsome flush crawling across his cheeks. You just shake your head and smirk a little, drizzling cold lube right onto his cock, watching it flinch. “Jesus _fuck_ , man, have a heart, that shit’s ice cold.”

“Stop whining, dude, holy shit.” You shut him right the fuck up by wrapping your free hand around his dick, giving it a slow pump to smear the lube properly around it, and if you pay a little more attention to those barbells than usual, thumbing the raised skin along the bridge of each one, and even lean down to lick along the ladder? It’s fine, especially with how it makes Ambrose curse and his dick twitch and ooze a fat bead of pre from the head. Which you have no issue licking up, honestly, even if it’s just to distract him from the way two fingers are pressing in deep and spreading wide inside him.

“God,” he groans out, his hips shifting in a mixture of discomfort, and you’re pretty sure he’s having a lot of mixed weird-good- _yes_ signals bouncing around, right about now. Luckily for Bro, you’re going to shift that one firmly towards the good, and he’s doubly lucky that you adore him, because now you’re picking up that goddamn smuppet (awful, gross, it’s looking at you, okay the ass is kind of appealing, you can admit that), and sliding it right onto his cock. It’s a snug fit, and you watch, fascinated, at how the toy bulges around it. Bro’s getting louder, too, which is hot as fuck, especially given that he’s far more inclined to silence and the occasional grunt, maybe dirty talk whispered hotly against your air as he’s balls-deep and driving into you.

It takes a little work to set up a proper rhythm, but as much as you’re loathe to admit it, the consistent beat of the music helps, and soon enough you’ve got three fingers in him and working his cock with the smuppet (it helps that the thing is no longer facing you), and Bro’s giving you some seriously ego-boosting moans.

You duck your head to leave a gorgeous, dark bruise on his inner thighs, digging your teeth in for good measure, and god, the _sounds_ he’s making. Your dick’s suffering from the wait, it really is, but you crook your fingers inside him to find that smooth ridge of skin, press in deeper to the sounds of his heavy breaths. His fingers are curled tight in the sheets, and if both your hands weren’t occupied, you’d reach out to tangle them in your own.

“Fuck-!” Ambrose cries out when you find it, and you have to hide another smirk, this one smug and beyond pleased- you love being able to draw reactions like that out of him, make his bullshit ironic stoicism crack, make him react for once. You’re relentless in your efforts to reduce him to a gasping mess, and god, they’re paying off so well.

“Not gonna give you more unless you ask nice,” you inform him, and don’t bother to hide the smug note to your voice then. Ambrose groans, ragged and beyond frustrated, but you don’t mind taking your time with this. Half-assed your plan may have been, but you’re not going to give up on getting the guy to beg.

“Fuck you,” is the response you get. Pretty much as expected then, along with him flipping you the bird.

“I mean that was entire idea of this, but I can yank my wet fingers out and leave you with the smuppet,” you say, and it’s blasphemy and absolute fucking bullshit.

“Ha, like ya got the self-control,” he manages to get out, and it turns out that his voice goes a little higher than you’d think, when you press the pad of your finger a little harshly against his prostate, just to see if he’ll react.

“If you wanna test that, man, all you gotta do is tell me to stop,” you tease, curling your fingers inside him. Fun as this might be, you’ve still got some stretching to do, you’re definitely focused on the task. No dickstraction here, never mind how your dong is literally drooling and almost alarmingly flushed.

Ambrose just glares at you, propping himself up on an elbow to do so, and you give him your most innocent look. Faux adoration at its best, you should get an Oscar for this performance, too. You’re halfway to scripting the perfect acceptance speech in your head (thank you to my boyfriend’s sweet ass and his chronic masculine pride issues) when Bro finally breaks, and mumbles a very, very quiet, “please.”

Of course, you can’t just accept that, because you’re going to lord it over him just a little. And because you, while in no way a mathematical genius, are 100% sure that he’s enjoying this. So you say, “Sorry, what was that, Bro? I couldn’t hear you. You’ve gotta speak up some, grace these ears with your words.”

“ _Please_ ,” he grits out, finally, and you reward that with a squeeze of the smuppet around his cock, couple it with another barely-there touch against his prostate.

“Please what?” you ask, sweet as Texas iced tea. He’s going to get his revenge for this, you’re sure, but you’re milking it for all it’s worth right now.

Ambrose glares at you for another minute, before saying, “Please fuck me,” in the most reluctant voice you’ve ever heard. But you know when to push and when to bide your time, for the most part, and you’re pretty sure that’s the best you’re gonna get for now.

You won’t lie, you rush a little as you remove your fingers from him and lube yourself up quick but thorough. And also fling the smuppet straight into what you wish was hell itself, but is instead the corner of the room (Bro looks a little offended at that one, honestly, but his dick is thick as fuck so you figure it did its job and you definitely don’t want to look at it while you fuck him).

“Hands and knees, c’mon,” you order, and it’s telling how quick he complies and flips over, even if there’s a slight scowl on his face when he turns back to look at you. You waste absolutely no time getting up on your knees and settling in close, and at the first nudge of the slick head of your cock against his hole, showing the slightest little gape, you both groan.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Bro says, demanding. You, of course, are not playing by his rules on this one, and land a stinging smack to his ass to prove it. And he fucking _moans_ , holy shit, you weren’t expecting that one. You do it again, and the result is just as satisfying. Again, again, and he’s panting and his ass is cherry goddamn red and shit’s beyond gorgeous. A low, ragged groan escapes him, and you lean over, pressing your chest to his back to kiss almost tenderly at his shoulder.

“Gorgeous,” you murmur, teeth tugging at his earlobe just once before you lean back and align yourself. Pushing in is absolute bliss, and you have to remind yourself to go slow and not shove all the way in like some kind of frat boy douchebag.

Bro tenses up beneath you, and you pepper kisses along the arch of his spine to relax him when you’re fully seated inside him, your breath coming in pants and toes curled in pleasure at how perfectly you fit together. It’s fucking everything. He’s tight, even after the stretching, and to make this a little easier on the guy, you shift your hand between his thighs to give him a nice reacharound. Imagine your surprise when he tells you to move after less than a minute (twenty eight seconds, if you want to be exact), but you’re not complaining about that, no sir. You do try to be considerate at first, thrusts long and slow to introduce him to every damn inch of you, even if pulling out is a special circle of hell reserved just for you.

You’re loud, you know that, and you keep up a constant stream of sweet nothings and straight up dirty talk for him, speeding up to a proper fucking that has skin slapping against skin, and drags out groans from the both of you and curses that he can’t quite muffle from this position. It takes some adjusting, too, little shifts of your hips to find the best angle, push in deep enough to press against that spot again and make him fucking cry out your name, God, yes.

Your hand’s still on his cock, but you’re feeling daring, feeling confident, so you shift it all the way up his torso, to rest around his neck. Nothing yet, just the weight of your hand there, fingers lightly stroking against the side of it. You’re not expecting him to beg for this, not really, but you don’t do anything until he nods, shifts his weight on the mattress to give you a thumbs up, and that’s a rush and a half, the kind of trust he’s willing to put in you to do this. Teeth sink into your lower lip as you tighten your grip, slowing down your thrusts, and you pay a whole lot of attention to every single reaction, even if you can’t see his face. You’d bet your entire media empire that it’s fucking incredible.

The sound of his breathing stutters as you start restricting his air, and you swear you’re getting harder by the second and so is he, even as you let him breathe after a few seconds, then go again, getting him used to it. A little longer each time, and so what if you want to draw this one out? So what if you want to give him a good time, give him what he wants?

You only cut off his breathing completely twice, and never for that long, but it feels like a small eternity as you count out the seconds, keep an eye on that hand to see if he’s going to ask you to stop, and you pray he won’t, even as you speed back up again, practically slamming into him now.

When you let go, he inhales long and deep, and a nearly giddy sound leaves him.

“Fffuck,” Ambrose groans out, and his voice is a little hoarse and you feel bad for all of a second, considering he’s now rocking his hips to meet your thrusts, practically begging for more in all but words. And, well. You’re not cruel enough to deprive the both of you, even though you know that you can both last a bit longer, if need be.

(Need definitely does not be, and the last time you tried tantric, Bro lost his patience five steps in. You’ll admit that it was pretty much at the point where you were going to just lay together after a bunch of useless tips from the newest issue of Cosmo.)

It gets a little sloppy, and you lose whatever rhythm you’d managed to build up, but Bro doesn’t look like he gives a single fuck about that, and so neither do you. You leave more marks along his back and shoulders, purple and tacky and damn perfect against his skin, and he provides the same ironically shit dirty talk that you’ve come to actually enjoy, for reasons that are also ironic. It definitely has nothing to do with the way his voice sounds, all husky and breathless, or the praise and humiliation he can deal out in equal measures. It’s a whole lot of praise at the moment, Bro telling you how much he fucking loves having you inside him, how good you feel, and demanding _more_ in the same breath. So you wrap a hand around his cock, and it throbs, holy shit, so you just get right to it, no fucking around this time. You thumb at the head, tease the slit of it and smear pre hot and dirty against the rest, let him fuck into your fist as you drive into him, and you’re close, you know it, you can feel it. You’re still trying to hold off, still wanting to get him off first. It’s a monumental effort.

It curls tight in your gut, and all you can say is his name, over and over again, mumbled against his skin as you just rut against him. He comes just before you do, though, with that strangled groan that’s still one of your favorite sounds, and there’s a mess on your hand and on the sheets but he’s tightening around you and you just bury yourself deep one last time and fucking let go, orgasm snapping through you in one long, drawn-out moment of sheer pleasure.

Neither of you move for a good few seconds after, and even then, it’s just to fall sideways so you’re sort of clumsily spooning on the bed. Lazily, you wipe your hand off on the sheet, but you’re still in that haze of post-coital bliss as the world comes back into focus around you, and you genuinely cannot be assed to move right now. The only sound in the room is the music playing, now something you vaguely recognize as a remix of the SBaHJ ending credits, overlaid with what might be Stiller chanting. Christ. You nuzzle into his shoulder, and steel yourself to pull out before he starts bitching; things go from warm and comfortable to fucking cold and wet and gross in a split second as you pull free with a wet noise. There’s some drip happening, too, but you can’t really bring yourself to regret that one. He’s left you with that kind of clean-up often enough, honestly.

"If you call that perfectly adequate, I'm burning every single one of your MLP collectibles," you tell him, deadpan, and he snorts. You let your head loll to the side to watch as Bro finally sits up, his wince a bit gratifying, to light up the usual post-sex smoke. “…This was a fucking set-up, wasn’t it?” 

“Hell yeah. Ya fell for it hook, line, and sinker,” he smirks like the cat that got the cream, and blows a puff of smoke right into your face, the bastard.

“You’re the one who’s gonna have to clean your ass out, so,” you smirk right back, shoving him a little. “Payback’s a bitch.”

He holds it out to offer you a drag, and you sit up a little to take it, simply leaning in to wrap your lips around it as you inhale, hold, exhale a stream of smoke.

“So’re you.”


End file.
